Tattling?

"Unbelievable!" Snape slammed a hand down on the desk, the crack of it making the room jump. "Beating up his classmates on his very first day! What does he think he's doing?"

Rosier hurried forward to smear Tom's name, his tone needling and inflammatory. "You're absolutely right, Professor! Riddle is completely out of control. He thinks the Wizarding World is just like his Muggle school, with no rules at all. He clearly doesn't take you seriously!"

Snape's cold gaze swept over him, venomously icy. Rosier instantly looked like a rooster with its neck in a vise. He clammed up, not daring to breathe too loudly.

Snape's voice was colder than the stone walls of the dungeons. "Rosier, whether he takes me seriously is not for you to decide. I'll judge that myself. I know what happened between you. I'll handle it. Now, get out."

"Yes, yes, Professor!" The three of them answered, putting on their best wounded expressions before turning to leave. The moment the door shut behind them, they couldn't hold back their laughter. They were already picturing Tom being punished until he cried for his mummy, then thrown out of Hogwarts.

After they left, Snape still looked displeased, his brows drawn together so tightly they could have crushed a fly.

He'd seen plenty of arrogant students, but never one who'd started showing off so early.

Even the "Dark Lord" hadn't acted like Tom when he first enrolled. He hadn't beaten up three roommates on his first day or "educated" them with a whip.

Dumbledore had warned him yesterday to keep an eye on Tom. He hadn't taken it seriously, and now the blowback had come this quickly.

The boy was no ordinary troublemaker. Snape had to teach him a lesson.

Snape decided he would handle it himself, before that old honey-loving bee could smooth things over. Today, he would make sure Tom learned a lesson he'd never forget—and found out who made the rules in Slytherin.

The Hogwarts staircases were notoriously unreliable. Of the more than one hundred and forty staircases, most loved to wander around. One moment they might be between the second and third floors; the next, they could shoot up to the top of a tower.

That didn't mean the staircases had no rhyme or reason. Some changed places at certain times, others reacted to how heavily someone stepped, and still others moved after you stomped three times. If you were lucky, they could even get you where you needed to go faster—in a way, the Wizarding World's "automatic elevators."

But Tom and Daphne were clueless newcomers. They'd set off half an hour early to avoid being late. Tom got impatient with the slow staircase and kicked a step in irritation.

Would you look at that—the staircase instantly transported them to the top floor.

Tom was so furious he wanted to swear. The two of them had no choice but to trudge back down, tiptoeing to avoid provoking "His Highness, the Staircase" again.

After all that, they reached the Transfiguration classroom just as the bell was about to ring.

As Tom walked in, he muttered to himself, Once I've figured out this stupid castle, I'm changing the staircase rules to make them even nastier. I can't be the only one who suffers. I'll drag all of Hogwarts down with me.

Quite a few students were already in the classroom. A tabby cat sat on the teacher's desk, dark markings around its eyes as it watched the students with narrowed eyes.

Tom glanced at it. He knew it was Professor McGonagall in disguise, but didn't give her away. He sauntered straight inside.

"Riddle! Over here!" Hermione spotted him at once and raised her hand high, pointing to the empty seat beside her. She sounded friendly. They were both Muggle-born, and having someone from home was better than being alone.

Tom went over and sat down. Daphne followed behind him, pouting and clearly unhappy, but she didn't dare argue with him.

As soon as he sat, Hermione eagerly asked, "What do you think of Slytherin? I read that they're pretty prejudiced against Half-bloods and Muggle-borns."

Tom raised an eyebrow and teased her with a dopey grin. "It's all right. My classmates are pretty 'friendly.' They even came looking for a 'duel' last night."

"A duel?" Hermione was taken aback, then pressed him. "But the books say they don't like Muggle-borns. Didn't they bully you?"

"Bully me?" Tom scoffed, sounding insufferably smug. "No. My roommates were really 'friendly.' I beat them up once and they settled down. They're a lot more sensible than my Muggle primary school classmates."

Hermione had no answer. After a moment, she proudly patted her textbook. "Well, have you read yours? I've already finished it for the third time. I've practically memorized all the important points."

That got under Daphne's skin. She rolled her eyes and said scornfully, "If you could learn magic just by reading books, would there be so many Squibs in the world? Don't think you're so special."

Hermione instantly bristled and shot back, chin raised. "I have a talent for magic, so of course I can learn things from books! Are you Pure-bloods saying magic just sinks into your brains while you lie around?"

"At least we don't treat magic like some rare curiosity the way you do," Daphne retorted. Her voice was very soft, but every word came through clearly.

"Magic has been around us since birth. Unlike you, acting like a country bumpkin who's never seen anything before." She glanced pointedly at Hermione, making sure Tom didn't hear her and ruin her image as a gentle young lady.

Tom sat between them, expressionless, though he found the whole thing amusing. He hadn't expected the soft-spoken Daphne to be so sharp-tongued when she argued.

The two girls traded barbs, each one striking a nerve. Tom felt as though his ears were their real target. Their bickering made his head ache.

"It's eight fifty-five," Tom finally said. His voice was calm but carried across the room.

Hermione froze and glanced at the clock. She immediately wilted, gave a quiet huff, then stopped arguing and lowered her head as if to read.

Daphne shot her a triumphant look, then leaned closer to Tom and quietly complained about Hermione making a fuss over nothing.

A few minutes later, the bell rang, but Professor McGonagall still hadn't arrived.

As everyone began to discuss it, two people came panting and stumbling into the room, nearly crashing into the doorframe.

"Th-that's great, we're not late..." Harry panted, hands on his knees, wearing the relieved smile of someone who'd narrowly escaped disaster. He pulled Ron toward the empty seats at the back.

Ron was drenched in sweat, his hair plastered to his forehead. He looked around, didn't see Professor McGonagall, and immediately relaxed. His voice grew louder. "Those stupid staircases are so messed up! They almost made us run in circles! At least we're not late. The professor's even later than we are. If I'd known, I wouldn't have run so fast. I can barely breathe!"

Ron had no sense of when to keep his mouth shut, and he hadn't lowered his voice. Even from the back row, everyone at the teacher's desk could hear him clearly.

Tom turned around and looked at Ron with pity. So what if he'd beaten up his roommates? Ron was the real daredevil. He'd dared to complain about a professor behind her back during the very first class—he was practically asking for trouble.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen."

The instant Ron finished speaking, the tabby cat on the desk sprang up and transformed in midair into Professor McGonagall, dressed in dark green robes. Her expression was stern, and the whole class fell silent.

Ron's mouth gaped wide enough to fit an egg. His smile froze, his face turned deathly pale, and he stood there in a daze. Had she heard everything he'd just said?

Professor McGonagall glanced at Ron, a hint of amusement in her eyes, then looked around the class. "I'm glad no one was late for the first lesson. I hope you'll continue to be punctual. At the very least, I won't be late."

"I'm done... She heard everything..." Ron drooped his head and groaned under his breath. He wilted, convinced his Hogwarts career was doomed just as it was getting started.